A Stab in the Dark
by Knickknack's Attack
Summary: AU/ Maka must live with the horrors of her past mistakes everyday. She deals with the solitude the best she can. All Death Officers must. But a new killer arises and her past comes back to haunt her, threatening to destroy everything she believes in.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter story. I have no idea how this will turn out. As far as chapters go I can't promise all will be this long and I have no idea what the updating schedule will be like. This story is AU, set basically within what I can only describe as Earthly limits. So no magic and such.**

**Disclaimer: Consider this chapter and the ones soon to follow all disclaimed. It may be lazy but I refuse to remind myself over and over that I do not own Soul Eater.**

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><p>The laughing moon spilled light across the deserted streets, wheezing blood between its teeth as she crept along the deep shadows of the crooked buildings. The wind squeezed into the alleys, sending abandoned trash skittering along oil stained pavement and disrupting stray cats that darted between tin cans. She was soundless and invisible, blending into the night around her.<p>

It smelled of stale booze and death, a sad scent that lingered in the air, seeping into every crack and pore of the city. It was quiet, save for the creaking wind and even that came intermittently, almost as if it was trying to make up for the lifeless atmosphere of the town. But it could not. Trull Brook Town was dead, now only a skeleton of what it used to be.

At least that's what everybody else saw. A forsaken city that could never make up for its former glory; memories of what it used to be were the only thing that had kept it standing thus far. It was not worth the time it would take to demolition it. Falling apart at the seams didn't even start to cover the rotting infrastructure of the city. Maka knew better.

She wasn't fooled by the solemn sidewalks or the blank sky. She could look past the subtly distracting nothingness it displayed, push aside its façade and look it straight in the heart. What she saw there was evil.

It fueled the putrid odors and disheveled sight that defined Trull Brook Town and created the misleading emptiness that smothered its once lively culture. Maka was here to destroy it.

The creak of a rusted warehouse door swinging open sounded like a gunshot through the alley. She stopped and stepped quickly behind an overflowing garbage bin. Peeking around the corner she watched a man step out of the building. He glanced around the alleyway, over the spot where Maka hid, before hunching up his shoulders and slinking into the empty streets.

He was a menacing man who paralleled the apathy and filth of the city. Both had a sense of heedlessness that made them so much more frightening than the usual fiery rage that came with danger. Their particular attitude would lull you into a false sense of security. Misled by the subtly emptiness they presented, you would not even have time to scream as silencing claws ripped you apart.

Maka was here to stop that. Stop them. She could deal with the man and banish this terrible city before they took any more unassuming victims. She had to.

Shuffling footsteps gave away the man's position as he ambled down the cracked sidewalk but he was so unconcerned with being followed in such a lonely town she need not expend much effort in trailing him. His shadow swung around him as he passed under the flickering street lights and she moved in closer, shrouded in the darkness the titled buildings provided. The evil smirk that twisted his lips would not last for long.

He spun around, almost over turning, as she finally let her boots tap out a clear rhythm to the center of the street. He seemed shocked, she noted with dry amusement, to see some else out at this time of night. Her mouth set into a hard line, betraying nothing, as he gawked at her, his hand twitching to the weapon she knew was concealed under his jeans.

The man relaxed immediately when she stepped into the lamplight. His eyes narrowed mockingly at her pigtails, dragging leisurely over the tight jeans and blouse she wore as well. He discarded any notion that she was a danger, now looking pleased at seeing the lone girl facing him in the abandoned street. His mistake.

"What're you doin' out here all on your lonesome, eh girly?" His uncultured drawl pulled a scowl across her features. He was a fool for underestimating her. She was no idle threat. But in his defense he wasn't the first to make that oversight.

"You shouldn't be out here all alone, you know. There're some real bad people 'round these parts."

Many more an arrogant man had done the same. They took one look at her skinny body, scraggly limbs, innocent clothing and dismissed her as nothing. No one took her seriously. They hadn't since…

Since…he had been around.

But it didn't matter anymore because he was gone. For good. And the lack of her enemies' defenses gave her an edge. Not a single one had gotten away with his or her life. As if they would want to after she was through with them.

"Hey! You listening, Pigtails?" The creeps always went after her hair. She peered at him with dark jade eyes from under wispy bangs.

"No."

"Wha…!" He looked outraged. His smirking face distorted in rage, accenting his broken nose and crooked teeth. "You're gonna want to take that back, bitch. No one talks to the Saw like that."

Maka controlled the urge to roll her eyes. If the creeps went for the hair, then the utterly hopeless losers took time to find pet names for themselves. This Saw guy was unoriginal to say the least.

He ran his gloved hands through his matted hair and straightened his collar. As he adjusted the rest of his clothing, collecting himself, he glanced at her again. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson, little girl. You'll wish you'd never seen my handsome mug by the time it's over."

She was done with this idiotic charade; there were better ways to waste her time. He rubbed the metal stint that braced nose as he swaggered closer. She threw one last disdainful look over the man's sleeveless shirt and clanking work boots before she straightened up and centered her focus. It was time.

He came to a halt a few feet away from her. The Saw rolled his shoulder until they brushed the bottom of the metallic rings in his ears, tightening his biceps under the long gloves, smirking as he ran his eyes over her chest.

"You aint got much. But it'll do."

He reached behind him and pulled a chainsaw slowly from the waistband of his baggy jeans. It glinted dully in the moonlight, old blood splatters adorning the blades. She stood absolutely still as he slunk closer.

"Ready to die, Pigtails?"

The metal chain whirled, releasing specks of dried gore that fluttered to the ground. The harsh grating of steel on steel filled the air.

"Are _you_?"

He started at her voice, stumbling back a few steps when she pulled a weapon from her own jeans. Recovering, he brought his arm down at her head. She parried the blow easily, catching the saw on the sharp edge of her curved blade. For a moment there was a struggle for power but he was caught off guard as the rest of her weapon extended into full form. The shaft caught the side of his head, sending him sprawling across the pavement. She swung it in an arch before placing the scythe with a resolute crack atop the ground.

"What the hell!"

Maka stared at him coldly. He picked up his chainsaw from where it laid a few paces away and scrambled up. The Saw's scraped arms held the weapon in a rigid grasp. She could see his incredulity. This obviously had never happened to him before. No one had bothered to fight back, let alone challenge him. She strode forward, swinging again. He brought the saw up at the last minute, deflecting the hit before tumbling over again. This was child's play; he stood no chance. She almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"What the fuck do you want!"

He tried to hold his ground and control the shakes that threatened to consume his body as she towered over him.

"You, serial killer, Giriko the Saw – your murdering days are done. Your soul is mine."

She kept it simple and to the point. No draw out exclamations, no narcissistic rants. It might have been a bit cliché but clichés were so overused _because_ they were constantly true. His eyes widened in fear and his heart started beating even harder. "N-no…"

He buckled in himself, shrinking and cringing away. She sneered in disgust. Turning away from his pitiful display, she studied the reflection of the moon in her silver blade. She ran her fingers along the razor-sharp curve, tracing the plain metal as his sniveling grew softer.

Her eyes hardened when there was a flash at the corner of the mirror like scythe. She swung it over her shoulder where it collided with a spinning chainsaw. His battle techniques were about as creative as his name.

She spun her whole body around, jamming the curvature of the scythe into the chain, twisting the rod in her hands until the saw was pulled out of his grip. His weapon skittered off to the side, out of reach where the chain whirled around the frame a few time before sputtering to a stop. She hooked her blade around his neck when he started toward it.

"Don't."

She tugged it closer, until the sharpened edge drew blood, discouraging him. Giriko stared at her with wild eyes, fingers twitching as if he wished they were squeezing her windpipe instead of holding empty space. The wind blew warm gusts, tousling their clothing, his harrowed breathing opposite of her calm and collected pace.

In a last sudden and desperate movement, his hands struck out toward her, two extra chain unfurling from hidden chambers at the base of his gloves. They wriggled and swayed in the air, taunting her carelessness before wrapping around her back, all the way to her sides and stomach. She gasped as the cold metal spikes bit into her skin.

"Gotcha, Pigtails." His lethal smile made her skin crawl and he laughed as blood slowly dripped down her torso.

She clenched her teeth and tightened her grip on the scythe. Maka threw her weight backward, ripping the chains from her body with a cry. Before he could regain his bearings she twirled her weapon, moving it in a complicated maneuver around her back and then up to his neck where she imbedded it down to the bone.

Like all the victims that had fallen at Giriko's hands before him, he died with a silent scream on his lips. His eyes portrayed an almost comical disbelief, his hands clutching the chains even as his life drained away. He fell in a broken heap in the middle of the street, a position reminiscent of the one he took when portraying the false turmoil from earlier. There was no pretending now.

Maka looked down at his body. He fit in perfectly with the city; just another piece to the mismatched jinxsaw that was Trull Brook Town. She took in the leaning buildings and dirty street lanes one last time. It was a puzzle that was not worth solving.

The adrenaline was wearing off and the burning of the blade slashes were starting to grow stronger. She was wiping her hands off on her jeans when her phone went off. She used her cleanest fingers to fish the sleek cell phone out of her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Maka." She could hear the underlying worry that accompanied her name as the voice carried across the speakers. Shifting her shoulders, she tried to forget the mounting pain that blossomed across her upper body.

"Tsubaki."

"How is your case going? Do you have any leads?"

"I got him."

"What!" Disbelief and awe colored her voice. "Already? But you just started two days ago!"

"That's time enough."

"Wow, Maka, that's really impressive. I can't believe –"

Her voice cut off abruptly and she heard a scuffle break out on the other end of the line. When the voice came back it was loud and obnoxious.

"YAHOO! Hey, Maka, I bet you kicked that little fucker's ass! About time. That dickhead deserved a good beating. You let him suffer, right? Please tell me you let him suffer!"

"Black Star." Maka greeted.

"That wasn't an answer. Not that you could ever outshine a god like me but your timing on this one wasn't half bad, at least compared to some of my easier cases." She could hear Tsubaki in the background, ordering him to be nice. She ignored the jab.

"I'll be back soon. Clean up should be fairly quick and then I'll be on my way."

She could feel him bristling at the lack of attention to himself but before he could say anything Tsubaki reclaimed the phone.

"Okay, we'll see you soon, Maka. Be careful, alright?"

"Bye."

She snapped the phone shut, staring as the screen faded back to black. She was being inconsiderate. She knew that. Tsubaki was just trying to be kind and even the infamously egotistical Black Star was reigning in his temper for her sake. But she could not find the will to reciprocate their efforts. The drive to interact and reach out to others had vanished with him. But she wouldn't think of that now.

Maka put the phone back, replacing it with a black lighter that felt heavy in her hand. With a flick of her wrist the scythe retracted, folding in on itself until it was only a slim, flat blade. She reached behind to slip it back in the waistband of her jeans, wincing as the movement pulled at her wounds, breaking open the half formed scabs. She ignored the hot liquid that seeped into her shirt in favor of walking to the nearest warehouse.

All of the buildings here were old and rickety, made of a cedar that once shone a beautiful, lustrous red. Now the washed out planks of wood hung like stale rags off the structures, drooping under their own weight. She flipped the top of the lighter back, admiring the pale bluish flame that wavered in the wind. Bringing the lighter forward, Maka held it to the edge of a nearby rotting sideboard.

It caught instantly. The flame smoldered at the tip for a moment before racing across the plank and jumping to the adjacent pieces that made up the warehouse. It licked up the sides and soon the whole building was consumed. She stood back to watch as the fire spread out, greedily devouring all the other buildings within its reach. All of Trull Brook was constructed with the ancient cedar so in a short matter of time the entire town was engulfed in the raging inferno.

She walked past the blazing edifices, the cold crumpled body now gathering warmth in the street, the sweltering sidewalks and the melting lampposts, out of the city and into the humid night where smoke bellowing in rolling waves behind her and the forgotten town of Trull Brook collapsed in itself, its distant memories blowing away as black ash in the howling wind.

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><p>At the edge of Death City, past Shibusen High School and the urban houses that framed the streets sat a tall black building, secluded from the rest of the city's bustling and urgency. It had a gothic style exterior, gargoyles staring down forebodingly from the high roof. The big front doors were made of dark wood and the decorative knocker and doorknobs matched the styling of the rest of the building. A long walkway led to the front and tinted windows that never revealed the light from within added to the mysterious charm it gave off. It was square shaped with a hollowed out center that held a patio and basketball court as well a small hot tub that was shoved to the far side. Only the trained eye could detect the absolute symmetry of the structure. It was thick and sturdy, each wide hallway named to its according position on the compass.<p>

In the West Wing two figures sat in an office, their desk pushed into the lower left corner of the room.

Tsubaki looked at her cell phone worriedly for the umpteenth time that evening. Black Star huffed in annoyance as his partner's attention slowly waned from his awesome self.

"Nakatsukasa!"

She looked up, startled. "Yes, Black Star?"

He leaned forward in his chair, squinting suspiciously at her. She sunk down in her own seat, bowing her head. "You're doing it again."

"I know. I'm just worried about Maka. She's all alone out there."

He frowned at the thought. "She'll be fine. I may not be there to protect her but she can do okay on her own."

She glanced up at him and smiled timidly, touched that he was making an effort to comfort her. Black Star tried to hold onto his unruffled superiority but whenever she smiled like that it didn't seem to matter so much. He smirked reluctantly. They both looked up when the side door flew open. A windswept trio walked in, jumping inside the office before the strong breeze slammed the door shut.

Kid glowered out the window, ruffling his hair back into a balanced arrangement. Liz ran her hands through her own tangled locks and Patti bounced over to Tsubaki's side of the desk.

"We got him!" Patti announced.

"And it's about time," Liz interjected, "That damn case was driving me insane."

"You guys worked really hard at this one." Tsubaki smiled as Liz ducked under the paperwork that Patti waved around. "It only took you a few weeks to get him. And he had a million dollar bounty, too."

"HA!" Black Star yelled, standing up and overturning his chair. "As a god it would have taken me a mere second to hunt that Kishin!"

"Black Star!" Tsubaki admonished while Kid rolled his eyes, "Don't use bad words!"

Sometimes his partner's sensitivity astounded him. "Kishin? Oh, come on," he said to her frown, "it's not that bad! And I wasn't even the one to make that word up. That was all Sou –"

He cut off abruptly and the room grew heavy with tense silence. In a rare show of humility he winced, shutting his mouth and lowering his head. The young officers exchanged glances, their moods souring.

Tsubaki spoke first, her soft voice barely raised above the howling wind outside.

"She hasn't been the same since…"

"…since the incident," Kid finished for her. They all looked up to where he leaned against the oak paneling of the walls. "It's been really hard on her."

"It's been hard on all of us!" Black Star snapped.

"I know it has," Tsubaki soothed, walking over to sit his chair upright, "but to lose your partner…like that…"

"It would be terrible. I can't even imagine." Liz's somber voice quieted them again. Patti tilted her head to the side, nudging the chair her sister sat in with the tip of her foot from her perch in front of Tsubaki's computer. Liz's mouth quirked slightly and she swatted at Patti's shoe.

"She blames herself for it, you know." Kid dropped his bags in the opposite corner of the room, settling into one of the chairs he shared with the Thompson sisters and rested his sore feet up on their desk. "She's never going to forgive herself for what happened."

"But it wasn't her fault!"

"And you think you can convince her of that? She a stubborn person, Tsubaki, almost to a default" Black Star could be heard in the background muttering 'always to a default' but Kid talked over him, "We were taught anything could happen on the job. Being one of Death's Officers is a dangerous and uncertain occupation. People die in this line of duty. Everyone _knows_ that. But when it's your own partner, right in front of you, it's different."

Black Star flopped back into his chair and spoke up tersely. "He's right."

The rest of the team stared at him, affronted with the somewhat humbling admission that followed. "Even someone as big as me would have a hard time handling that. I don't even know how a person who's as small as Maka is dealing with it."

Tsubaki patted his shoulder and took a seat on the arm of his chair. "I just hope she gets back soon. She should be here by now."

"Already?" Liz asked, confused. "She just started two days ago. And this guy had a _two_ million dollar bounty. He's done some nasty shit in his past."

Tsubaki wrinkled her nose at the cuss word but chose to overlook it. "She said she got him."

Kid opened his mouth to speak but the moment he did the side door blew open again. Black Star piped up as the wind rushed over them, disturbing all the loose papers in the office. "Speak of the devil."

"Maka!" Tsubaki sounded relieved. "You're finally – Oh my gosh! What happened?"

She hauled the door shut behind her. "What do you mean?"

"Your shirt! You…you're covered in blood, Maka!"

She glanced down at herself. Her voice was clipped and disinterested. "It's nothing."

"I dunno, Maka. You don't look so good." Liz nodded, agreeing with her sister's concern. "Maybe you could have Stein look at that."

She walked over to her desk at the bottom right corner of the room, ignoring the dust that collected on the second empty chair as she always did. Black Star stood up and marched in her direction.

"I see what this is. You're trying to upstage me, aren't you?" She didn't bother to look up as he came closer. "And now you think you can ignore a star like me?" When she still did not respond he raised his voice, a pulsing anger bubbling up inside his chest. "You don't have to act so tough, you know! You're not the only one that misses him!"

She froze, jerking her head up as the rest of the room held their breath. Fire sparked in her eyes and she yelled right back.

"You don't know what it's like, Black Star, so don't pretend you do! You don't have to live everyday with the knowledge that you've _**killed your own partner**_!"

"That's bullshit! There's nothing you could have done. Nothing! Soul made his decision."

"The only reason he had to _make_ that decision was because I screwed up! Me! It was my fault, so don't act like he made some noble choice by stepping in front of that sword!"

Kid and Patti stepped in, prying them apart. Maka shook off Patti's hands and Black Star stormed out of the room and down the hall. She glared after him.

Tsubaki, Kid and his partners stood uncertainly as Maka sat simmering at her desk. Tsubaki approached her, waving off the questioning eyes of her friends. They left the room quietly, going in the same direction Black Star had gone, out the door and to the South Hall that housed their living quarters. Tsubaki waited patiently for Maka to calm down, standing off to the side in silence.

She finally released the hard grip she had on the arms of her chair, gazing up at the tall woman before her. Tsubaki twiddled her thumbs and scrunched her shoulders apologetically.

"He's not the most articulate person I know."

Maka allowed a small smile at her words but it did not reach her eyes. She felt completely exhausted. All she wanted to do was finish her paperwork and crawl into her bed where she could block out the rest of the world. She had been trying her hardest not to think of him. Black Star's reminder had created another huge hole in her already bleeding heart. The pain was overwhelming. She didn't know how much more heartbreak she could handle.

"It's the only way he knows how to show that he cares. Black Star worries about you. We all do."

"You shouldn't. I'm fine."

Tsubaki sighed, watching sadly as Maka withdrew further. She wished she could help her somehow. "He was right, though. It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah," Maka said mockingly, "we're Death Officers. We hunt bad guys and save the world one nutjob at a time. We're trained professionals who eliminate evil and save the innocent. I've heard it all before. It doesn't change the fact that I was the one who fucked up our last mission together. Soul died trying to save me from my own mistake. You guys can pretend otherwise but I know that it's true."

"But, Maka, that battle with Chrona –"

"I hesitated. I hesitated and it cost him his life. He died from a blow that was meant for me."

Her eyes traveled to the picture frame that lay face down on her desk. It had been a gift from Tsubaki. A snapshot from years ago, taken after one of their most grueling missions. They were on the back of Soul's motorcycle, his face surly, hers smiling brightly, both of them bruised, bloodied and exhausted. Her arms were around Soul's neck and his were crossed defiantly over his chest. It had been one of the happiest times in her life. But Soul Evans was never coming back.

"Come on, Maka," Tsubaki's voice pulled her back to the present, "I'll finish your paperwork for you. Let's go see Stein."

She nodded, too tired to argue, and stood up; following her out the second door and they walked together down the hallway to the North Side infirmaries.

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><p>"Maka. Back so soon?" The bright synthetic lights glinted off his round glasses.<p>

"He was an easy target."

"I see." He looked at the blood that stained her shirt. "What happened?"

She explained the battle with cold detachment and Tsubaki bit her lip in worry as she told about the extra chains Giriko had hidden.

"I had to pull them out in order to defeat him."

"Alright, let's have a look."

Maka sat on the stainless steel surgery table as Tsubaki helped her pull the shredded shirt off her shoulders. Tsubaki covered her mouth with a hand in order to smother the gasp that collected in her throat at the sight of Maka's torn up back and sides. Stein studied them grimly, prodding at the deep scrapes gently.

"He got you pretty good. This is going to hurt."

"Just do it."

Tsubaki fought the urge to shake her head. Maka hadn't complained even once when the doctor had been stitching her skin back together or when he applied the salve that she knew stung on open wounds. She led Maka back to the room despite her insistence that she could do it on her own.

Only when Maka was sitting on her bed, cleaned up for the night with pajamas on did Tsubaki feel comfortable leaving.

"I'm okay, Tsubaki. You shouldn't worry so much."

"I can't help it. Goodnight, Maka."

"'Night."

Maka settled back onto her mattress the moment her door clicked shut. She closed her eyes against the burning pain that came from her ruined skin and from somewhere deep inside her chest. She tried not to think too hard about how empty and cold her sheets felt without Soul's warmth in between them. She ignored the extra space in her bed where his body had once been. She had to get used to that now; Soul was never coming back to her. And she had no one to blame but herself.

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><p>"God damn it! Why won't these guys just die?"<p>

"I've got this, sis! Let me at them! Let me at them!"

"YAHOO! Bow down to your god, bitches! You're all mine! HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Their asymmetry is appalling. Let's get this over with already."

"Black Star! You're going the wrong way!"

Maka ducked, pigtails flying, as a punch flew over her head, turning around to grab the fist before throwing her weight forward and hauling the biker over her shoulder. She grimaced as one of her stitches popped open. That ass. He was going to pay for that.

She was forced to drop down again when another gang member sailed over her head. "Hey!" she yelled at Black Star. "Watch where you're throwing!"

"You guys," Tsubaki cautioned as Maka delivered a vicious kick to the biker's face, "Remember we're not here to kill them. Stein said we were just to bring them in."

"They're asking for it," Liz said, smashing two more skinny felons together.

"Yeah!" Patti agreed, tripping them as they tried to scramble up, "You're asking for this!"

Everyone looked up as a grating metallic creak sounded through the city's center square. The Death Team groaned in exasperation and the street gang gaped as the massive statue in the middle of the fountain fell face forward into the pavement. A blue haired boy sat loftily on its back, staring down his nose at the others who looked up at him from the ground.

"Now listen well, you dipshits! I am where I should be. Above you all! Fear the wrath of the great Black Star! You all will perish under me and my awe-inspiring greatness! Mwahaha!"

Kid smacked his face into his palm. "Terrible," he muttered, "just terrible. He's not even aligned right…"

The fight broke out again as the gangbangers started to attack. Maka narrowed her eyes as a tall one with a grey hoody and maroon hat facing backwards barreled toward her. He yelled and bounced up and down, limbs flailing and mouth spitting insanities.

"Do you know who controls this town?" He spat, circling her with awkwardly raised fists.

"Maybe I would if you talked more and spit less."

He snarled and screwed up his eyes that were, to her dismay, outlined in heavy eyeliner.

"It's the Moderatsy, that's who! And don't you forget it. You people can't just waltz in here again like you own the place. You can't best us twice! This is _our_ city. You won't beat us again!"

She furrowed her eyebrows and scoffed at him. "I couldn't care less about that if I tried."

With a battle cry and thundering sloppy footsteps he charged at her. She stepped to the side at the last minute, tipping her booted foot up and anchoring her heel so that his feet tangled and he face planted with a hard smack. She cleaned the scuffs off her shoe with the back of his shirt. She leaned down, assessing the damage. His nose looked better broken anyway. She cocked her head to the side, perplexed when she saw dark bruises and scrapes peeking out from under his shirt.

Using the toe of her boot she flipped him over on his back. He whimpered and squinted in the light. She frowned when she saw the outline of previous punch marks on his face.

"Ma-ka!" Said a singsong voice, "You got him?"

"Yeah," she replied, trying to rub away that blood that was oozing past her open stitch and into her jacket. "He's the last of them."

Patti skipped over and grabbed the gang member by the leg, dragging him to the fountain where the rest of his crew lay in a trembling heap under Kid and Liz's watchful gaze. Black Star strolled up with his hands behind his head followed by Tsubaki who was retying her ponytail.

"That was no fun," Patti pouted, stepping on the hand of a pimply boy who reached for the pile of disarmed weapons. He squeaked as she pulled out a gun. "I didn't even get to use my pistol!"

"These guys were pretty pathetic. The high school kids in training could have handled them."

Patti holstered her weapon and nodded at Kid. Maka spoke up.

"That's because someone got to them before we did."

"What?"

The rest of her teammates looked at her in disbelief. They surveyed the mobsters taking in the old injuries for the first time.

"But who?" Liz asked. "Who else would come down here to deal with them? The academy wouldn't send any kids without notifying us and all the police squadrons have to stay within city limits. Plus we're the only Death Officers around. Who else is left?"

Everybody shrugged at her before turning back to the huddling mass of criminals.

"You!" Maka barked pointing at the man she had beat earlier. He fiddled nervous with the multitude of studs that speared through his ears as the rest of the group gravitated away from him. Her dark green eyes met frightened purpled ringed ones. "You said someone people were here before; that they beat you already. Who were they?"

When he didn't answer she pulled out her blade from the belt that fastened around her skirt and held it under his chin.

"I don't know who he was!"

"He?" Black Star stepped forward. "Just one guys kicked all your asses?"

The man looked ready to argue but when Maka pressed the sharp edge closer he refrained.

"Yeah. Just one guy," he said grudgingly. "Tall with spooky teeth and 'real pale hair. But the worst thing was his eyes. Looked like the fuckin' devil incarnate. He came and beat the shit out of us." The gangster shivered at the memory. "We didn't even stand a chance. He got to some of the other gangs too. Took out that big mob boss, Asura." The team looked up at each other in surprise, recognizing the name. "Killed him like it was nothin'. And I also heard –"

"For fuck's sake, we don't want the whole damn story!" Liz growled, "Just tell us the name!"

Maka tightened her grip on the cold metal of her scythe, a pit forming at the base of her stomach. Warning bells were going off in her head and she was starting to feel sick.

"They call him the Soul Eater."

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the lack of Soul. Really, it kills me. A few things to straighten out before I leave you be (I promise not all my author's notes will be this annoying)….**

**1****st**** – I was sad to kill Giriko. He's awesome. And I know he's OOC but whatever.**

**2****nd**** – If you find similarities to the series it 'cause I took more than one line from there.**

**3****rd**** – Review or I shall send the Saw after you.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yell at the internet for this not being updated sooner. I mean, seriously. Why isn't there wifi on boats?…and cars?…and beaches?…and mountains? **

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><p>A lone figure strolled through the snowy drift, kicking aside piles of ice and splashing through cold puddles. He seemed indifferent to the temperature, going as far as walking in only his bare feet. The tattered pants that fell loosely around his long legs rippled in the wind, lifting high enough to reveal a shackle that was chained around his left ankle. Connected to the other end of the chain was a large iron ball that meant to hamper his movements. It dragged behind him like a forgotten toy, leaving a deep crevice in the thick snow and obscuring his footprints.<p>

If the ball and chain fettered to his foot did not immediately reveal his identity as an escaped prisoner the dirty black and white stripes across his shirt and pants would. He was tall and ominous, his upright posture and casual stride giving him an air of confidence and ease that was frightening for one with such a violent history. He walked as if he was doing the world a favor by gracing it with his presence, as if the blistering cold and chilly winds were somehow reaching out to brush his very skin and pay homage to him, the Supreme Being.

It made Soul sick.

To think that guys like this one, that ambled down the sidewalk without a care, which terrorized blameless people and ruined innocent lives, could get away with creating mayhem and murder, could disrupt the world and shatter its already fragile peace – _that_ made him sick.

It wasn't just the arrogant stance and superior complex that got to him, (in fact that reminded him exactly of someone else he knew but he pushed those thoughts away before they could get to him) it was the fact that they thought they could get away with anything and never have to face the consequences of their actions (again he was reminded of an especially boastful ninja but he dismissed the memory as he always did).

But now was no time to brood about the imperfections of life. He had a job to do. Soul took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it over the railing of the bridge and into the murky waters bellow. He stood straight, twisting his shoulders and flexing his finger until the joints cracked.

The man that walked down the center of the snowy bridge looked up, momentarily surprised to see another person about. He frowned at the boy that sauntered straight into his path. He had on a black leather jacket and shredded jeans that blended in with the dark color of the lamppost he had just pushed himself off of but most peculiar was the white head of hair that sat in unkempt spikes that fell across his face, a color so stark you had to squint in order to differentiate it from the swirling snow around him.

Free did not feel inclined to deal with this boy right now. He had just gotten, as him name so aptly described, _free_. There was no reason to waste his time killing the young man that had unknowingly wandered in the middle of his path. At least not yet. After being locked up in prison for twenty years, Free was ready to take on the world. He was in a good mood right now, which the odd haired youngest was lucky for. All he wanted at the moment was time alone to explore this quaint city and relish in his sovereignty. Not even the death of another was worth his precious time.

However, his generosity in sparing the boy's life should not go unrecognized. He stopped, puffing out his chest and folding his arms. He pointed his chin up and spoke to the boy with eyes leveled down his nose.

"You there! With the pasty hair!"

Soul scowled at him and shoved his hands in his pockets. Please don't let this be a longwinded monologue about his brave, hard-fought travels and astonishing accomplishments, he thought. That dick-less wonder, Excalibur, had been bad enough. He shuddered at the memories.

The escapee smiled as he watched the boy trembled suddenly under his gaze, face growing grimmer as he surely realized the immense power Free held.

"Do not be afraid!"

The boy quirked one pale eyebrow.

"I am an amazing and terrible being but I will spare your life today. I am in a giving mood and will leave you only with the impression of my immense greatness."

Soul smirked. What a douche.

Free sighed as the young boy smiled in gratitude. He was being too nice for his own good. Growing soft. He really ought to reign in his vast amount of awesomeness. It seemed to be too overwhelming for others to handle.

"Heh." The boy's deep voice surprised him. "You need to get your head out of your ass, wolf boy. No one gives a shit about you or your overinflated ego." He laughed at the murderer's flabbergasted face. "You're one of the most uncool assholes I know."

Free felt enraged at the mockery but jumped and pointed at him. "Bastard! But you _do_ know of me!"

Soul's expression dropped. Dear god, this man was pathetic. Best to get rid of him before he completely embarrassed himself. He crouched down and released twin blades from the hidden sheathe strapped to his forearms. They followed along the top of his arm before curving at his wrist bone, extending past the edge of his hand by almost a full foot. They attached to him as if they were a part of his body, almost making him seem like a deadly weapon himself. He curled his fists and rolled his wrists in lazy circles under the wintry metal. Free fell into a defensive position as well, the lettering of the prison tattoo above his left eye twitching while he seethed from the boy's dis. First he insults him and now he pulls out a weapon? The disrespectful brat was going to regret that.

Soul leapt forward, running at the prisoner head-on. He brought up one hand in a lightening quick movement and slashed out at his opponent's neck. Caught by surprise at the boy's agility, Free stumbled, his fist flying up in an effort to hit back. Soul deflected it harmlessly off the flat side of his blade and sidestepped the kick Free aimed at his legs.

"Pretty slow for such a 'terrible being'." He dodged another punch, his voice dark and taunting. "What's the matter? Is your 'immense greatness' weighing you down?"

Free howled in rage, snarling and springing at the boy again. The albino colored man evaded every blow, dancing around his flinging limbs with apparent ease. No one should have to stand this kind of humiliation, let alone someone as incredible as himself. Free stood, bent over his knees, breath whistling past his bared teeth as the young man watched him with disinterest.

Soul rolled the sleeves of his jacket and shirt up to his elbows, revealing the rest of his blades. It was time to end this.

He charged forward, blades scraping across the snow with his whole body hovering low over the ground. Free started running as well, a livid anger sparking at the depths of his mud brown eyes. When they finally collided he spread his fingers, slashing at Soul's face with long, ragged fingernails but Soul ducked, avoiding his hands. He drove his arms at Free's exposed sides, letting the razor edges slice down to the bone.

They stood breathing heavily in the middle of the frost bitten street. Soul watched as Free's blood flowed across his red and black blades, staining the white powdery flakes bellow. His gaze snapped to Free's face when he started chuckling darkly. He tightened his fingers under his weapons and narrowed his crimson eyes. Something was wrong. The wolfish man should be howling in pain not laughing deliriously.

"You think an attack as weak as that can beat me? You fool."

Soul tried to pull his sharp scythes back out but Free brought his hands down, wrapping them around his forearms and holding them still. The edges bit into his palms but he paid no heed to the blood that welled up against the blades.

"Why did you think I was so dangerous before? Did you ever wonder why they locked me up? How did you think it was that no one could bring me down?"

He leaned forward and with one hand grabbed Soul's shoulder, squeezing until his nails pierced through his clothing and ripped into his skin. Soul winced and leaned away as the blood started dripping down his arm. He yanked his shoulder back and the prisoner let go, his hand tearing off a piece of leather that fluttered to the ground. He laughed again.

"I can't feel pain. At all." Soul's eyes widened and he ceased his struggling. "It's called peripheral neuropathy. Big words but the meaning's simple. Nothing you do can hurt me. So just give it up. There's no way to win."

Soul opened his mouth, ready to let loose a snarky reply but a sudden pain ripped through his torso, cutting off his words. His muscled clenched, tightening against the agony that invaded his body, searing his insides and twisting his bones. His defenses dropped as he tried to battle the terrible sensation. _Not again. _There was no time to deal with this right now.

Using the boy's sudden distraction as an opening Free swung his left leg up, turning it so that the iron ball slammed into his side. Soul grunted as new pain ripped through him, knocking the air out of his lungs, and tried not to focus on the cracking he heard coming from his ribs. The colored blades were ripped from the felon's sides with the force of Soul's momentum and he landed on his back a few feet away. Ignoring the throbbing that laced up his side (and feeling utterly annoyed that the shithead that kicked him did _not_) Soul rolled to his left and used his weapons to push himself up before facing him again. The other pain faded and he was left with only soreness in his right lung. No more messing around. He had to get serious. Ugh, if Boots was here right now she would kill him.

Soul growled out loud, berating himself for the slip up. He couldn't think about that; it was all in his past. He would never see _her_ again. Anyway, he didn't need help. Not from her, not from them, not from anyone. Ever. He was fine on his own. He liked the solitude.

"Why don't you just give up? There's no way you can beat someone as strong as me. Run away while you still can."

"Shut up already. One more word about how tremendous you are and I'm gonna hurl. Seriously, man. I just threw up in my mouth a little. So be quiet and fight me already. I have places to go, people to kill, things to break…your rambling nonsense has thrown my schedule off. Let's get this thing over with already."

"Why you…!" He dashed at the boy's slouching form with raised fists, spitting insults and promising a long painful death. Soul grinned and settled his hands behind his head, his sharp teeth glinting in the lamplight as Free drew closer. When he was about a foot in front of him he jumped up over Free's shoulders, planting his feet and using the prisoner's back as leverage to send him sprawling. The criminal caught himself at the last minute and twisted around, bringing his leg up to repeat the move from earlier.

Soul would never quite believe he actually witnessed the sight that followed.

He turned around as Free's leg came up, the metal sphere aimed at Soul's side again, but it never made it that far. The felon was standing near the edge of the bridge, his left side to the railing. Both Soul and Free watched in morbid fascination as the iron chain came around, overextended and then caught in the stone poles that were cemented along the side of the bridge. The entire siding groaned loudly under the force of his swing and leaned into the street. But gravity took a turn for the worst (best?) and it slowly slid backward, breaking off from the sidewalk and tumbling toward the frozen ocean bellow.

"Damn. This shit always happens to me."

Soul's jaw dropped open as he watched the Free fall at the hands of his own desperate move, descending with the railing, off the side of the tall bridge and into the frozen waters bellow. It snapped shut again when he heard a loud crack sound across the top if the ice.

His opponent had just taken himself and almost half of the massive drawbridge down. Debris was still raining down, falling off in huge chunks before smacking into the surface of the frigid sea. Soul put a hand to his aching ribs and glanced over the side of the bridge at the wreckage that was slowly sinking past floating hunks of ice. The last think he saw before the falling snow coated the waters again was a curled fist disappearing into the dark depths of the ocean. He grimaced and leaned back. Surveying the cuts and bruises to his body, he stopped dead when he saw the hole in his jacket shoulder.

"So not cool."

He exhaled noisily and pulled at the material. Of all the things to ruin…Soul glared at the sea, now covered again with a layer of slushy snow. Good riddance. He hoped that blithering asshat burned in hell. Well, he hoped _all_ of the creeps working under Medusa met some kind of other worldly torture. Seeing as most of them were dead now. It was a messy job, collecting the souls of the low-lives, criminals and murderers who served and catered to the whims of the maniacal bitch. But someone had to do it. Someone had to step up and stop her before she ruined anyone else's life. He knew what a terrible thing it could be to live with the aftermath of her wrath.

Soul hit a switch on the side of the scythe blades and they retracted, first the tip then the sides before lying in a flat, straight line atop his arms. He fastened the straps around them and slid the jacket sleeves back over his weapons. He started walking down the road, his feet compressing the soft snow beneath the soles of his shoes as he tried to steer his mind toward less depressing speculations. He reached into his pocket and pulled the pack of cigarettes out, throwing the box over his shoulder. He stuck the last stick in between his lips and struggled to light the tip. Cussing, he turned his back to the wind, shielding the small flame. He replaced the lighter and watched the end of the paper smolder. He took a deep draw and started off again.

Soul stopped suddenly, chocking on the fumes. The pain in his right side flared anew and he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, coughing into his hand. He stared at the inside of his palm, watching the dark, blackish blood drizzle down his skin. He clenched his fist tightly. It was getting worse; every day a little more than the first. He wondered how much longer this would last. Hopefully not _too_ long. Tossing the cigarette to the side, he stomped forward, traveling the deserted streets cold, tired, aching and alone. So alone.

The snow melted around the rolled paper that had been abandoned in the street, chilly water seeping in and penetrating its heart in the same way the loneliness pierced at Soul.

* * *

><p>"Daaaammmmmnnnnn," Black Star drawled, "that is one fucked up drawbridge."<p>

Tsubaki smacked his arm. "Stop being so prudish," Black Star grouched, rubbing the spot she had hit, "you were thinking the same thing."

They all climbed out of the van, slamming the doors behind them and shivering as the wind crashed into their bodies, stealing heat. The Death Team trudged through the icy street that sat parallel to the bridge, stopping when they got to the transition between the two. Patti shook out the snow that was gathering in her boots and stood next to Liz who eyed the ripped metal rigging warily. "You sure that thing's going to hold all of us? It doesn't look all that sturdy."

"It…should hold." Kid studied the structure. "I think."

"Oh, thanks for that, Kid," Liz snapped sarcastically. "Your assurance in our safety really inspires confidence."

Maka left the bickering behind and ventured out slowly onto the bridge. She looked down at the tracks that were scattered across the ground. The snow had covered most of what would have been left but some marks were too deep for even the wind and ice to erase. She leaned down over those, examining one long trail that wound to the center of the bridge. Whatever had made this mark had to have been really heavy. She followed it to the middle of the bridge where it stopped, leading into a large array of scrapes and slashes that marred the metal as well as the ice.

There had been a fight here. She was sure of it. Maka turned around as she heard footsteps approach from behind. Even Kid, who was not easily impressed, looked over the scuff marks with an appraising eye.

"Whoever fought here was strong. They both were."

Maka nodded and they all turned their eyes to the vacant siding. Kid continued.

"But I guess one was stronger."

Black Star frowned at his remarks. "Not _nearly_ as strong as me!"

"Of course not, Black Star," Tsubaki said absently. Her eyebrows furrowed apprehensively. "You don't think…I mean, obviously there's no way…that – it couldn't be…after what those gang members said..."

"No."

All eyes turned to Maka.

"Our mission is to bring the person who's been attacking Medusa's henchmen in for questioning. And as clearly shown by the wreckage here, it's not a dead man. It's not _him_. It can't be."

It wasn't possible. She had seen what had happened that night. The way Chrona's sword had torn through his skin and clothes as Soul had thrown his body as a shield in front of her. How his blood-red eyes, growing hazy and distant, had been the same deep color that seeped from his chest and stained her gloves. When the familiar warmth, the heat she relied on to keep her sane at night, had drained from his body at alarming rates while she watched from the sidelines, useless and scared as the only man she would ever love died right before her.

There was no way it was him.

She turned swiftly, and started walking away at a clipped pace.

Liz and Patti stepped aside as she stormed by.

"Maka?" Liz watched her rapidly retreating form with worry. "What – "

"There's nothing more to do here," she called over her shoulder. "Just gather the evidence and go. You don't need my help with that. It's clear whoever was here before is long gone now."

Tsubaki flinched as the car door slammed shut. Patti bit her lip and glanced at Kid who just shook his head. Liz spoke up.

"You don't actually think…"

"No," Black Star said, looking down at the ice that floated in broken chunks bellow. "Only gods like me can come back from the dead." His attempt at humor was weak but Tsubaki smiled anyway and placed a hand on his arm.

Liz squared her shoulders and clapped once. "Okay then," she said authoritatively. "Let's get cracking. Someone has to identify the body that fell off the side. Hmm. I vote…Black Star!"

"Hey! No one orders someone as great as me to do such shitty work! And it's freaking cold down there. I would freeze my balls off."

"What balls?"

The group fell to arguing again while Tsubaki tried to point out they had special equipment for that sort of thing but the halfhearted cheer did not reach the car. Maka sat in the last row of the van, trying and failing to keep the loop of memories from spinning in her head. She slouched back into her seat and closed her eyes, squeezing them tight. She tried to convince herself that it was because she was tired and not because it was the only way to prevent the salty tears from spilling down her cheeks.

She was exhausted. The last five months of her life had been a nightmare. She had been running around nonstop, burying herself in work and whatever else would keep her mind off of Soul. Of course, she knew this wasn't only hard on her. They all suffered from his death, whether it was in the form of grief for Soul or worry about her reckless abandon for her own safety and care. She felt guilty to put more of a burden on them.

Maka tried to fight the tiredness that crept up on her, dreading the dreams that always accompanied it, but it came in overpowering waves and soon she was pulled into a deep tide of sleep. Always that same, terrible dream. Always.

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><p>They were back in that church, the same place they always were. She should have known better. Should have listened to her gut instinct and stayed away. But she hadn't. And she would pay for that misstep in judgment for the rest of her life.<p>

They walked in, footsteps echoing up to the tall roof. So naïve. So unsuspecting. So vulnerable. They stopped when they saw a person standing at the altar with the telltale sign of innocent blood still on his blade, but they didn't run, _why hadn't they run?_ She had felt it again, that twinge of unease but she ignored it because they had faced greater dangers before. This one would be no problem.

If only she had known.

They unsheathed their weapons and attacked, ignoring the fatigue of their earlier battle, ready to start again. They pay no attention to the rambling of the pink haired Looney, standing alone with a bloody sword and wild fearful eyes because he was so skinny, so weak-looking and what did the way doors opened have to do with this anyway?

She would figure it out soon enough. Soul, who had been running at her side, suddenly dropped down, forced to the ground under the weight of another man. He was dressed in black and had a hood over his face with stark white stripes running in lines and Xs across his clothing. He must have been hiding in the shadows. If only they had looked past their confidence, stopped and surveyed their surrounding, then she might not be forced to relive the horrors of what happened next every night.

Her partner was trapped, restrained under the immense power of the black shrouded monster. The man gripped at Soul's throat in a way that halted her movements and sped up her heart. He dragged Soul, struggling and cursing, to where the small boy (or was it a little girl?) was standing and he laughed maliciously. The skinny kid still babbled about doors and other things she wasn't interested in because the big one was talking now. And his words had frightened her.

'It's you or him,' he had said. 'You or him. You can run now and save yourself or sacrifice your life for the sake of your partner's.' Soul hadn't like that, so he bit the black one's hand and yelled at her to stoping being so stupid and just run but she was rooted to the spot, cringing as a fist clouted him in the side of the head. 'Shut up,' the striped man had commanded and then barked, 'Make your choice,' to her.

Choice? What choice? She needed Soul, more than anything she needed him, but she also needed them both alive.

She was caught unaware as the undersized one approached her, swinging a blade that aimed to kill. It was chaos then, utter chaos as the large one yelled, the small one swung, her own arms tired and her partner struggled.

She had screwed up.

Misjudged the strength of the seemingly weak opponent. She turned and banged on the doors, but there was no escape. The doors, oh god, she got it then, the doors. 'They only open one way.' She faced him again and closed her eyes as the sword swung down, heard in the distance as a voice screeched in pain. She had hoped Soul would escape. He should have known to leave her behind.

But that wasn't cool. You _never_ leave your partner behind.

She wished he had taken his own advice.

Sometime later she realized that that was the big one who had screamed as Soul ripped him apart. To this day she can't imagine how he managed to move so fast, covered the distance from the altar to the door in time to meet the deadly blow that shattered his soul.

She found it ironic her life went to hell in one of the only places directly connected to heaven.

Her eyes had opened as his body pressed into hers, crowding her into the doors that only opened one way, shielding her from the death she rightly deserved. She was pretty sure she screamed as the blade spilled his blood, tore open his chest and downed the only person she truly loved. In the haze that followed she must have killed the little one because he was dead, dead as the big one that lay broken at the other end of the isle.

But she didn't care about them because her whole life lay dying in her lap and she was to blame. Her gloves pressed to his chest and she put her vest over his body but the blood would not staunch. She yelled at him to stay awake, told him not to die on her because she won't be able to handle it, being alone. Being without him. 'I love you,' he had choked out and blood poured from his mouth, accompanying his last words. For the first time in all the years she had known him he abandoned his cool and tried to convey everything he could with the remainder of his breathe.

'It's not your fault.'

'You'll be okay.'

'I love you.'

There was nothing she could do. 'No, _**no!**_' she had begged him to stay but he was already gone.

Each time, in every dream, she tried to change the inevitable outcome. Each time she failed. Her heart broke more every night, as she killed her partner over and over again.

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><p>She was jerked awake at the sound of the car door sliding shut.<p>

"Move over, lazy-ass!"

Black Star pushed her sluggish body aside and plopped down in the seat next to her. She kicked him back and leaned away from the snow he was shaking from his body. First Patti, then Liz followed by the rest of her team piled in the car, sighing and melting into their seats as the heater kicked in. Kid turned the keys in the ignition and the van roared to life, crunching over the gravel as he pulled away from the curb.

"It was that wolf guy."

"Huh?" Maka was still disoriented from the nightmare. She tried to shake off the crushing despair it always brought along and focus on Patti's words. She needed to act normal for their sakes.

"The guy the other stronger guy defeated. The strong one. But not the strong_er _one. Yeah. The strong – but not stronger – wolf guy."

Liz slapped a hand over her eyes, telling Patti it was too cold to deal with her nonsense right now but Tsubaki twisted in her seat in front and elaborated for the laughing blonde.

"Free. The man who was taken down was Free that prisoner Medusa broke out."

Maka frowned. Free was no easy feat. It would take brains and brawns to take someone like him down. Whoever they were chasing was a force to be reckoned with.

She settled back into place, curling her legs under her and turned to fold her arms across the back of the seat. Black Star was passed out next to her, limbs flung in a way that took up most of the room and Patti, who was perched in the seat in front of her, was blowing her breath on the window before quickly scribbling giraffes into the glass. Liz had her feet up on her sister's chair, checking her nails for any chips. Kid and Tsubaki held a serious conversation in the front, discussing the mission and the minimalistic amount of evidence they had gathered.

Suddenly something dark blew across the tundra Maka was watching from the rear windows.

"Stop the car!" She yelled, sitting up.

Kid stepped on the breaks and they skidded to a halt. She leapt over Black Star's lap, rushing past the Thompson sister's stunned faces and Tsubaki's worried expression. Once out the door she looked around, hair whipping at the sides of her face.

"Maka!" Kid said jumping out of the car with the rest of her friends. "What is it? Is something –"

"There!" She pointed in the distance before sprinting off. The team scrambled in bewilderment after her, slipping and sliding to a halt behind her when she stopped. Kid and Black Star grabbed Patti's arms when she overcorrected and tripped on a patch of ice. Everyone stared as Maka bent down to pick up a soggy scrap of clothe from the street. They crowded closer, staring at the shred of black leather in her hand.

"Is that..."

"It's just like..."

"No way."

"It can't be."

"Hey, didn't Soul have…"

They trailed off, now looking to Maka for confirmation. She tried to swallow but there was something in her throat, a hard lump and a feeling she couldn't quite describe churning her stomach. They waited as she stared in doubt at the soft, smooth material in her hand. The one that used to creak under her fingers when she pulled him into corners for stolen kisses. The one she always heard crumpling to the floor of her bedroom as he pounced on her unsuspecting form. The same one she used to lay her cheek against while he sped away with her clinging to his waist on the back of a motorcycle. There was nothing else it could be. She knew the color, texture and sound of it too well.

"It's Soul's." Her voice came out barely above a whisper but they still heard her, gasping and flinching away. She ignored their spluttered denials, letting their voices fade into the background. She studied it closer, twisting the black leather in her hands. Her breath caught and they quieted immediately.

"What is it, Maka?" Tsubaki stepped closer. They watched as a dark liquid oozed out from where her fingers squeezed the material. It ran slowly over her fingers and into her palm. It was deep in color and thick, but less so now that it had mixed with the watery snow. It was almost as black as the leather itself.

"What is that?"

Maka closed her fist over the liquid and looked up at them.

"It's blood," she said and they looked taken aback. "And it's fresh. Not even a day old. We just missed him. If he isn't still here."

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><p>Maka drummed her fingers impatiently on the tabletop. Tsubaki sat to her left with Black Star propped against her legs. He was uncharacteristically quiet for one with such a boisterous nature. Tsubaki's fingers knead slow, soothing circles into her partner's tense neck but her anxious expression gave way to her mask of calm. Patti sat across from them, exuding the same amount of disquiet. Liz paced in front of Kid, who was leaning against the wall, and she was glancing at the door to the kitchen every few minutes.<p>

The clock chimed in the next room, marking a new hour. They had been waiting for two, shifting in nervous anticipation while they killed time in the kitchen. Stein had said he'd be done within a matter of hours. Those hours were up.

After the fresh blood had spilt out of the piece of leather Maka had found they had scrounged the area, looking for any signs of human life other than themselves. Only when the wind had penetrated every layer of their clothing did they admit defeat and pile back in the van. They had sped home as fast as possible and rushed the fabric to Stein for a blood test. He didn't look the least bit surprised when they told him to check it against Soul's DNA. But then again, Stein wasn't one to easily be caught off guard.

The pace of Maka's tapping fingers increased. She had never felt so nervous in her life. So unsettled and confused. And all over a little scrap of black cow hide. Pathetic.

But she couldn't help it. That little piece of clothing could turn out to be nothing. Or _everything_. The implications made her nauseous.

They all stared expectantly as the kitchen door creaked open. No one moved an inch. Utter silenced reigned the room. Maka felt her nausea spike as Stein looked directly at her.

"It's a match."

Her friends looked up as her chair scraped back loudly, hitting the wall behind her as she fled from the room. She couldn't be around them right now. She didn't think she could stand anyone at the moment. She went through the halls as fast as she could and didn't stop until she reached her room. Once there she shut her door, locking it behind her. She leaned back against the wood, struggling to even out her breathes. She didn't try to control the tears that stung at her eyes and left hot trails down her face. Maka lost all the strength in her legs, sliding down to sit on the floor. Her friends didn't come over to comfort her. They knew better.

She felt numb; emotionless; apathetic. Like a passerby watching as the cold hard shell she had spent months creating tumbled down in one fell swoop.

Her body acted of its own accord. Washed her faced, brushed her teeth, got ready for bed while her mind spun aimlessly and thought of nothing. Only when she was slipping under her sheets, when her back hit the mattress she had once shared with another warm body did she let go. Her mind went into overload and she was powerless to stop it.

Was it true? Could it really be him?

No. There was no way. He was dead. She had watched him fade before her eyes, stood as Justin Law had performed the sermon, spread his ashes and seen them sail away in the wind. But then again, what proof was there that those ashes were _really_ his? It wasn't as if they could go about recollecting and testing them. Could something have forced her partner's heart to start beating again? Faked his death and taken him away?

If so, what was he doing? What could he possibly be up to?

What good was killing all Medusa's men going to do? She was evil, sure, but going on a mass assassination spree was a little extreme. Or was it? It had been one of her people who had killed (not killed?) him in the first place.

Where was he now?

Why wasn't he working with the other Death Officers to take down Medusa and her people? Surely he couldn't have thought that they wouldn't take him back. Soul should know that they would offer help and support his every move. He was doing the same job as before but with just a little more ferocity and secrecy.

The last question gnawed at Maka's very soul. It tugged and pulled and heightened all her insecurities, making her feel raw and exposed.

Why hadn't he come back to her?

She didn't even want to start fathoming the answer to that one.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I find it hilarious that at the end of the last chapter (and probably this one) I was just as confused as you guys as to what was going to happen next. Be afraid, people. Be afraid.**


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